


Excess

by tastewithouttalent



Category: Soul Eater, Soul Eater Not!
Genre: Dom/sub, Established Relationship, M/M, No Plot/Plotless, Plot What Plot/Porn Without Plot, Teasing, Threats of Violence
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-05-24
Updated: 2014-05-24
Packaged: 2018-01-24 15:39:25
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Underage
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,042
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1610372
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/tastewithouttalent/pseuds/tastewithouttalent
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>"Akane’s mouth is open -- he’s trying to apologize, maybe, that seems like the thing to do -- but Clay’s pushing him backwards, stepping in too close so Akane goes stumbling back." Akane teases Clay. Clay tells him to stop. Akane doesn't. Clay reacts.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Excess

Akane’s bored.

Posing as NOT students has some advantages, most of them tactical, but a major disadvantage is that the classwork is frankly trivially easy for both himself and Clay, which makes the school day even more of a trudge than it generally is. He at least makes the attempt to look focused in class -- he has a reputation to maintain, after all -- but while his eyes are fixed on Sid his imagination is running wild, and he has to do  _something_  with all that tension, and Clay is  _right_  there. It’s a perfect situation, as far as Akane is concerned; he sits through class pretending to be the diligent NOT student he isn’t, and then between classes he gets to lean in to brush his lips against Clay’s ear and whisper the filthiest suggestions he can think of to see the weapon flush red and stammering.

He’s been thinking about Clay all class, maintaining perfect composure while thinking about the way the weapon’s lips feel on his skin, the whimpering gasp he can draw from the blond by licking against his collarbone, trying to decide if he wants to get the other boy to the bed when they get home or just push him up against the front door and try some of the new ideas he’s had. None of it shows on his face -- Akane’s had  _years_  of practice at keeping his face steady in spite of what’s running through his head -- and it doesn’t even when they leave class, although he can’t quite hold back his anticipatory smirk as he trails Clay out of the classroom.

The weapon jumps satisfyingly when Akane starts speaking over his shoulder, apparently wholly unaware of the meister’s proximity. Akane reaches out to touch the back of the blond’s neck, ostensibly to steady him but actually so he can press his thumb against the edge of the other boy’s neck and hook his pinky finger just under the white collar of the weapon’s shirt.

“That was an interesting class,” is what he is saying, the words innocuous but his tone dark with suggestion. Clay shivers at the touch on his skin and probably at least a little because of the way Akane’s mouth is brushing against his hair, but when he speaks his voice is relatively steady and calm with total innocence.

“It was okay. I thought you knew everything that Sid was covering, though?”

“Oh, I do,” Akane agrees. His fingers slide another half-inch, until he’s almost holding Clay’s neck in his grip, and the weapon whines in faint almost-protest. “I was putting my imagination to good use instead.”

“Akane --” Clay starts, but the meister doesn’t pause, just keeps talking in the calmest tone he can manage.

“I have a new technique I want to try on you.” Akane starts to steer Clay down the hall; the weapon’s movements are slowing as he gets distracted, he has to be reminded to keep walking when he’s focused on Akane like he is now. “Might be a challenge to get you home. How opposed are you to me sucking you off in an alley on the way home?”

“ _Akane_.” Clay sounds scandalized, and he’s flushing, glancing sideways so his blue-green eyes are catching Akane’s sidelong gaze. “We’re at  _school_.”

“There’s a lot of closets here too,” Akane observes, grinning while not looking away from Clay. The weapon pulls his gaze away, starts to flush high over his cheeks. “That’s a really good suggestion, thanks for that.”

“ _Don’t_ ,” Clay hisses. “I can’t handle you like this.”

Akane purrs in amusement. “I don’t know about that, you’ve seemed pretty capable of  _handling_  me in the past.” He takes a half-step, bumps against Clay’s hip with his own; the motion is subtle enough that no one watching should notice anything out of the ordinary, but it presses him up against the weapon for just a moment so the blond can feel the meister through the relatively thin fabric of his uniform pants. Clay stumbles forward, missing a step as he briefly forgets to walk, and makes a sound of strangled protest as he nearly falls. Akane laughs and reaches out to catch his elbow to halt his flailing descent, but Clay gets his balance back and his feet under him in time to jerk his arm away from the meister’s hold.

Akane’s laughter fades, but he’s still smiling, still has his fingers up against the weapon’s neck. “Come on, Clay, you’re just so easy to  _tease_.”

Clay stops dead in the hallway, so fast Akane actually runs into him before he can stop his own forward momentum. “Fuck, Akane, I told you to  _stop_.” He’s turning before Akane can get a look at his face, his hand is closing on the meister’s wrist and jerking Akane’s hand off his skin, but he doesn’t let his hold go as he turns to face Akane down, just holds the meister’s hand up and out of direct contact. Clay looks...he looks  _furious_ , Akane’s never seen him look like this before. His eyes are snapping with rage and people are starting to veer around them, giving what is obviously a fight a clear berth, and the flush in his cheeks is starting to look more like rage than embarrassment.

Akane’s mouth is open -- he’s trying to apologize, maybe, that seems like the thing to do -- but Clay’s pushing him backwards, stepping in too close so Akane goes stumbling back and shoving the meister’s arm over his shoulder until the other boy is almost jogging back to keep his wrist from bending back painfully over itself. He’s too shocked and moving too instinctively to pay attention to his surroundings, and when his shoulders hit the wall it’s  _hard_ , hard enough that it blows the air out of his lungs, and Clay’s still  _coming_  so Akane ends up sliding an inch down the wall because it’s either that or get his nose crushed against Clay’s face.

“Don’t  _tease_  me so much,” Clay is saying, and Akane can’t think, can’t speak to apologize or ask for forgiveness or even acknowledge that he  _understands_ , because Clay is  _far_  closer than he should be, his mouth is right up at Akane’s eye level and he’s  _looming_. Akane knows rationally that Clay has a larger build than he does himself, he sees it every time they both have their clothes off, but the blond has  _never_  brought it to bear like this. Akane’s suddenly sharply aware that he couldn’t get out of this position if he tried; Clay’s got him backed up against the wall, and the weapon’s too big for Akane to overpower him, and he’s got Akane’s right hand pinned up over the meister’s head so he can’t use Soul Force even if he wanted. “I’m  _bigger_  than you, I’m  _stronger_  than you, I can turn into a  _fucking sword_  anytime I want and you just keep  _pushing_  to see how far you can go. I am  _dangerous_ , Akane, just because I don’t show it doesn’t make it less  _true_.” Clay’s still hissing on his words, there’s no sign of calm in his eyes, and Akane’s whole body shudders and he drops even more passive against the wall as the blond keeps going. “I  _can’t_  live with my family even if I wanted to. I  _had_  to come here or I risked hurting someone, maybe  _killing_  someone, and you treat me like I’m some  _toy_ , like it’s a _game_  for you and just because I  _won’t_  kill you doesn’t mean I  _couldn’t_. You should  _remember_  that, Akane.”

Akane is certainly never going to forget it now. His legs are shaking, he can’t remember the last time his flight response was this strong; he’d be folding down over his knees if it weren’t for the pressure of Clay up against him. He can feel the blond trembling with frustration in time with the anger in his eyes, and it would be  _so_  much easier to convince himself that the heat flushing the meister’s skin is fright but Akane knows very well that it’s not, or at least not  _just_  fright.

Clay hisses wordlessly. “I can’t even tell if you’re  _listening_ , I can’t see your  _face_ ,” and he’s shoving Akane’s hair back from the meister’s always-covered eye, totally disregarding the students hurrying past them. No one’s looking, everyone’s carefully  _not_  looking, but Akane flinches back anyway, cringes against the wall like he can get away from the sudden exposure. Clay’s staring into his face, straight into both Akane’s eyes, and for all that the meister is usually in control of his expression and Clay is usually not very good at reading it he shudders, because Clay’s gaze is clearer and more focused than it usually is, and Akane has the sudden certainty that the blond can see  _everything_  in his head.

Some of the anger in Clay’s face drains away, and Akane knows that whatever else he can see the weapon got the important part. “I don’t  _believe_  you.” Clay moves his hand, lets Akane’s hair fall back over his face, and Akane shuts his eyes and shivers in a reaction that is only partly relief. The grip on his wrist goes gentle, Clay deliberately loosening his hold, and Akane very nearly whimpers before he can bite his lips and catch the sound back.

“You’re  _turned on_  by this,” Clay says, whispering in a scandalized undertone like there’s anyone within earshot, and Akane shuts his eyes because he really  _won’t_  be able to fight back his reaction if he keeps watching Clay’s face.

“Yes,” he says instead, as level as he can, which means it comes out shattered and shaking but total absent the deliberate teasing that pushed Clay’s buttons originally. “Yeah. Very.”

“You’re insatiable,” Clay growls, and when he steps back Akane thinks for a horrible moment that he’s going to let the meister go, go home or on to class or  _something_  and leave the other boy shaking with adrenaline and fright and arousal in the hallway. But the gentle hold on his wrist doesn’t move, and when Clay starts moving he pulls Akane in his wake by his grip.

Akane follows, for once not trying to stay as close to Clay as possible and not particularly caring about the few stragglers still around them. After a moment he swallows and asks, “Wh--where are we going?”

“Home,” Clay says, so decisively that Akane doesn’t protest that they still have two classes to attend, that it’s the middle of the day and what will they say they were  _doing_? It all seems somewhat irrelevant, just at the moment.

They make it through the city in record time, or what feels like record time. Akane is barely watching the surroundings, his gaze fixed on the still-irritated shift of Clay’s shoulders and the edge of blond hair against the back of the weapon’s neck, and he’s still shivering, his initial surge of adrenaline is lingering in the form of anticipation, now, so if anything he’s  _harder_  by the time Clay is taking the stairs to their apartment two at a time and tugging Akane in his wake.

Akane’s trying to catalog the options as they step inside -- door? wall? table? -- praying to anything that is listening that Clay isn’t going to leave him on his own, but the weapon neither descends upon him nor storms off to his own room. He stops in the entryway, kicks the door shut behind them, and bends down to get his shoes off without looking at Akane.

“Bedroom,” he says, still without looking, so it takes the meister a minute to realize that was an order directed at him. His movement stalls for a moment; then he abandons untying his shoes entirely, just kicks them off with a desperation he usually doesn’t show, and is heading down the hallway for the bedroom that is ostensibly the weapon’s before Clay has finished getting his own shoes off.

They don’t spend much time in here, in practice; Akane can’t sleep well on his own, and Clay likes to play video games on the bed while Akane is studying at his desk, so the meister’s room is the de facto bedroom of the house. But that means Clay’s room is oddly singular, absent the blending of styles the rest of the apartment shows, and the relative unfamiliarity of the space is just more electricity to Akane’s blood. He’s pulling off his jacket, fumbling the usual calm slide so he turns one of his sleeves inside out before he can get the coat off, but that doesn’t matter, he’s tugging his tie loose and working on the buttons of his shirt by the time Clay comes to the doorway. Akane freezes, his hands stalling halfway down the front of his shirt as Clay eyes him, glances at the jacket and tie discarded on the floor.

“Strip,” the weapon says, turning away, and Akane’s hands are moving before he even thinks through the meaning of the words. He’s still watching Clay rather than his own hands; the weapon tugs his tie looser, pulls the loop up off his head without bothering to entirely unfasten the knot, immediately goes to manage the buckle of his pants, and Akane’s fingers slip on his buttons so it takes active attention to finish the row down the front of his shirt. He does get it off, after a moment, and his pants are quick to shed if the motion is not particularly graceful; he’s peeling off his undershirt while Clay’s still stepping out of his slacks, almost moves towards the bed before hesitating, maybe Clay doesn’t want him there?  
The blond glances back over his shoulder. There’s none of the anger that was in his eyes at school anymore; his gaze drops down over Akane and a grin pulls at the corner of his mouth. Akane’s not sure what’s making him smile, how fast the meister got undressed or how desperate he must look or how  _stunningly_  hard he is, but it doesn’t matter, Clay’s saying, “Lie down on the bed. On your stomach,” and Akane’s moving, scrambling to obey without even pausing to straighten the perpetually tangled sheets over the mattress. The pressure of his own weight pressing his cock down against the mattress is a little bit better than no contact at all but more teasing than anything else, so when Clay’s fingers touch against Akane’s hip the meister shudders and arches up in a reflexive plea for more. There’s the sound of a breathless laugh, a momentary press of Clay’s hand comforting against Akane’s skin, and then the warmth is gone and Akane can hear the sound of footsteps, the rustle of clothing as the weapon strips off the last of his uniform, the sound of a drawer opening. Akane’s trembling in uncontrollable anticipation by the time he catches the slick sound of Clay coating his fingers in lube, and even the weapon’s steadying hand on his hip doesn’t help calm him.

“You --” Clay swallows. “You want me to do this?” He sounds uncertain, a little lost; it’s not like they haven’t had sex before, not even like he hasn’t been the top before, but Akane knows what he’s asking, knows what his answer is so he’s nodding before he can even find the words.

“ _Yes_ ,” he gasps. “Yes,  _please_  Clay.  _Hard_.”

“Okay,” Clay says, still sounding a little uncertain, but then his fingers push up against Akane’s entrance and there’s no uncertainty in his movement, he’s pushing hard enough that both fingers slide deep into the meister before Akane can even take a startled breath at the stretch. Instead of moaning he makes a weird choking sound, tries to breathe and groan and whimper all at the same time, and his thoughts are entirely blank, there’s just pressure and almost-pain right at edge of everything, the threat of it without the execution flaring hot under his skin.

“I’ve  _told_  you not to tease me so much,” Clay says. His voice is shaking a little, still faintly shy, but his movements are perfectly sure; he’s shifting his fingers as he speaking, slowly thrusting with steady acceleration as Akane catches off-beat inhales and clutches fists into the sheets under him. “You don’t  _listen_  to me, Akane, it’s like you don’t  _respect_  me.”

“I--I res--” Akane tries to say, but the words deteriorate into a shuddering groan as Clay spreads his fingers slightly, twists his hand so the pressure digs in against sensitive nerve endings and whites out the meister’s vision. “ _Ah_. I respect you.”

“You  _should_.” Clay sounds unconvinced but Akane can’t keep his attention on the conversation; the weapon’s fingers keep moving, thrusting and spreading and dragging air involuntarily from the meister’s throat. Akane almost doesn’t catch the shift in the blond’s tone for the next words, the drop into his ordinary voice even while his hand keeps moving deeper and harder inside the meister. “You’re really okay with this?”

“Oh  _god_ , Clay,” Akane manages around a barely-repressed moan. “If--if anything you can go  _harder_. Just--” He groans again, buries his face against the mattress while he catches another breath. “Just  _fuck_  me,  _hard_ ,  _please_.”

Clay laughs, sounding as shocked as amused. “Okay.” His fingers slide out and away, and when he speaks again his voice is back to the sharp-edged act of before. “Is this what you want?” There’s the sound of slick movement again, a shift on the mattress, and then the head of Clay’s cock up against Akane’s entrance. The meister shuts his eyes, grips hard on the sheets like they’re going to hold him in place, and doesn’t answer.

“It is, right?” Clay thrusts forward, slow, but it’s still a stretch, still makes Akane gasp and arch on the bed under him, and he keeps coming forward in spite of the meister’s involuntary reaction. “This is what you want, when you fucking  _tease_  me all day?” He slides back before he’s entirely inside, and Akane has a brief flash of insight before the weapon shoves forward all the way, one quick movement that makes him wail at the burst of sensation and drag the sheets in towards him.

Clay sounds more breathless when Akane can pay attention to his words again, but his voice still has the chill of irritation that is spiking Akane’s heartrate rapidfire in the meister’s chest. “You just can’t get enough of my cock, am I supposed to be  _flattered_  that you can’t keep your hands off me?” He thrusts again, rocks Akane forward over the sheets; the meister chokes, lets one of his hands go so he can reach out over his head to brace himself against the wall, steady himself for the weapon’s thrusts. “You think it’s not hard for me too?” Clay’s finding a rhythm, hands steadying Akane’s hips while the meister is holding himself more or less in place by his hand flat on the wall, but every thrust is hard enough to make the brace of his arm shake and Akane’s eyes are still shut but he’s pretty sure he wouldn’t be able to see straight even if his eyes were open.

Clay lets one of his hands go, reaches out to run his fingers through the dark hair against Akane’s neck, over the strain in the meister’s shoulder. He keeps talking, too, loud enough Akane can hear him over the moans that are starting to take the place of more restrained exhales in his throat. “Do you  _want_  me to drag you into a closet and do this to you?” His fingers curl against Akane’s hair, pull gently, and Akane moans encouragement that turns into just straight reaction halfway through when Clay thrusts in deeper at an angle that shocks thought right out of the meister’s head. “You can’t stay  _quiet_  enough, everyone in the entire school would hear you moaning, Akane.” Akane gasps, tries to shove himself back as Clay comes forward; the weapon lets his hair go, slides his hand down between the meister’s skin and the bed to close his fingers around Akane’s length. The meister jerks at the contact, curves his back to give Clay better access, and Clay leans in against his spine, presses his mouth against Akane’s shoulder as he starts to stroke over him in time with the thrusts of his hips. “ _I’m_  the only one who gets to hear you like this, who gets to see you like this.”

“Clay,” Akane gasps in desperate attempt at warning. “Clay, I’m --”

“I know you are,” Clay growls, and the shiver of sound against his skin pushes Akane over the edge, makes him shudder and groan and come shaking against the weapon.

Clay’s trembling too when Akane catches some of his breath a moment later; he’s still thrusting forward hard, with the meister’s distraction he’s rocking Akane forward with each motion, but his rhythm is starting to go. When Akane remembers to lock his arm out to hold himself in place, the weapon groans as he runs up against the reinstated resistance, and Akane can feel the ripple of orgasm run through the blond’s body before he gasps, “ _Akane_ ” in a tone Akane recognizes, all the assumed dominance utterly gone from his voice.

Akane’s still shivering with aftershocks when Clay slides free, sensation prickling erratically over his skin so he groans at the movement.

“Shit, Akane, I’m sorry,” the weapon starts, and Akane turns over quick, before he can get any farther.

“Don’t,” he manages. He sounds exactly like he feels, breathless and exhausted and  _deeply_  satisfied. “Don’t be sorry,  _god_  don’t be sorry.”

Clay is looking contrite, biting his lip and tipping his head down like he’s expecting a scolding. “I shouldn’t have gotten so angry. I mean. I wasn’t, by the time we got back here, but at school, I  _hate_  getting like that.”

“I know.” Akane gestures to the weapon to lie down across the bed, the motion a command in spite of how weak his movements are, and Clay moves to obey immediately, coming in to curl against the meister’s bare skin so he can wrap an arm around the other boy’s waist and rest his head on Akane’s shoulder. Akane drops his hand to rest on Clay’s hair, shuts his eyes and smiles at the ceiling. “I’m sorry for pushing so hard,” he offers in exchange for the weapon’s guilt. “Don’t feel bad, it was wrong of me to needle you after you told me to stop.”

“I still shouldn’t have snapped like that,” Clay mumbles, his fingers tracing nervously against Akane’s hip.

Akane trails his fingers through the weapon’s hair. “And I shouldn’t have pushed you,” he says again. “It’s okay. It won’t happen again.” He pauses, stays quiet until some of the tension has bled out of Clay’s shoulders and the weapon is breathing more deeply against him. “Though this could happen again.”

“What?” Clay lifts his head and Akane opens his eyes to look down at the confusion across his face. “What could --  _oh_.”

Akane grins at him. “You being dominant is really fucking hot.”

“Oh.” Clay is flushing, now, none of his earlier anger, just embarrassment. “I. Uh.”

“It’s okay.” Akane pushes Clay’s head down against the meister’s shoulder, drops his head back and shuts his eyes. “We don’t have to if you don’t want to.”

“No, I --” Clay trails off. Akane can feel him blushing darker, the heat from his flush bleeding out into the meister’s shoulder. “I liked it, I just...do you have to push me into it?”

“I told you I wouldn’t,” Akane says, no trace of teasing in his words. “If you want to again I’d love to. But I told you I won’t push you again if you tell me to stop, and I won’t. We could even have a safeword if that would help.”

“Yeah.” Clay agrees instantly. The anxious shift of his hand goes still, his hold on Akane tightens into a possessive hug for a moment. “Yeah. Let’s do that.”

“Okay,” Akane says. When he resumes playing with Clay’s hair, the weapon purrs gently against his shoulder, and when Akane smiles there’s nothing but affection in the expression.


End file.
